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Score | 141
R. Veyne Nigeria
Freelancer, Writer @ Elizade university
Lekki, Nigeria
636
111
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In Literature, Writing and Blogging 1 min read
He called himself “nothing” once.
<p style="text-align: center; "><strong>He called himself “nothing” once.</strong></p><p>I almost stopped him.</p><p>How does the sky call itself empty</p><p>when it holds entire storms?</p><p>How does the night say it is dark</p><p>when it carries every star?</p><p>How does a wound call itself weak</p><p>when it learned how to close?</p><p>Or time call itself slow,</p><p>when it outlives everything it touches?</p><p>He was everything</p><p>life tried to quiet,</p><p>everything silence couldn’t bury...</p><p>He carried oceans in his chest</p><p>and still apologized</p><p>for making a little noise.</p><p>But the world has a way</p><p>of making loud souls</p><p>feel like echoes.</p><p>So he became smaller,</p><p>spoke softer,</p><p>and learned to disappear</p><p>without ever leaving.</p><p>And still,</p><p>he stood there…</p><p>believing he was nothing.</p><p>As if oceans</p><p>could forget they are deep.</p><p>As if the sky</p><p>could apologize for being endless.</p><p>As if something born to shine</p><p>could convince itself</p><p>it was made for darkness.</p>

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